


The Great Game

by gloss



Category: DCU - Comicverse, The Losers (2010)
Genre: Chromatic Character, Crossover, F/F, Rough Sex, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-30
Updated: 2010-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aisha doesn't belong in Gotham, and there's no such thing as a fair fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Game

**Author's Note:**

> For the **rough sex** square on my [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) [card](http://gloss.dreamwidth.org/60963.html?#cutid1). Betas by G. and H.

  
Get in, get the sparkly stuff, get out.

That was how jobs were supposed to go. Supposed to, but rarely did.

So far this job had gone smoothly. Probably too smoothly. Nothing should be this easy, especially not stealing a few kilos' worth of Bactrian jewelry from Afghanistan.

Then again, gift horses and eyes: Selina wasn't complaining.

She knew better than to complain. All too often, after all, jobs went more like get in, get the sparkly stuff, get held up by the Bat, get an interminable talking to.

She had the pouch stuffed with goodies clipped to her belt, she'd turned the corner, she was just about to hoist herself into the ceiling duct and shimmy her way back to the service elevator shaft.

She was practically home.

She felt, rather than saw, the presence just behind her, just out of her line of sight. She turned, slow and easy, ready to offer Batman a kiss or a kick to the balls.

Maybe both. She liked to change it up, keep it loose.

"Oh," she said when she saw the figure. "You're --"

_Not him._

The woman wasn't Batman, that was for damn sure. Swathed in dark fabric, dressed like an executive assistant in trousers and low-cut buttondown shirt, she was a slip of a thing, barely taller than Selina herself but at least twenty pounds lighter.

She wore no mask and she had a gun aimed at Selina's heart.

Which of these facts was more remarkable?

"Our offices are now closed," Selina said, keeping her hands up and voice level. "Please leave a message and one of our representatives will get back to you at our earliest convenience."

The hallway was too dark for to make out whether the gun's safety was on.

"Give them back," the woman said.

"You must not have gotten the memo. No guns in Gotham, sweetie."

There was the safety, flicked off. "Give them back."

Selina's options were -- to put it generously -- radically limited. The woman blocked her one sure exit. Behind Selina, if she ran and somehow turned bulletproof along the way, was the front door of the brokerage, but that would trip the internal alarms and alert building security. To the left, the bank of windows looked thirty stories down on the city.

"Didn't mama teach you to share?" Selina asked. Any time bought was worth inane banter.

"My mother's dead."

"Join the club." Selina considered the space between the woman and the far wall. If she jumped just right, she could probably avoid the gun, knock the woman down, and make it into the duct.

There were far too many ifs and probablys in that plan.

"I'm going to say it one more time. Give them back."

Selina cocked her head as she sidled two steps closer. Closer to escape, but also closer to the gun. "What do you think I have?"

She had a barbell pierced through her left brow, and more rings glittered around the curve of her ear. Everything else about her, from her hair to her posture to her small feet, was sharp. Angular and acute, a collection of blades and edges in human form.

"Three point two million in Bactrian rubies and diamonds, another 500 grand in sapphires," she said. The gun never wavered. "More important, they're mine."

Selina couldn't help but smile. "Beg to differ, kiddo."

The gun barrel dipped. Just a fraction, just for a second. Selina smiled wider.

"Finders, keepers," she continued and took another step. If the woman were going to shoot her, she would have already done it. (Probably.) "These pretties aren't yours. They belonged to some shitbag druglord --"

She took the gun barrel full across her face, a crack and then a blaze of pain, but her instincts kicked in and she managed to duck the second, return blow. She brought one arm up to shield herself, kicked out with the opposite leg, and hoped that the **oof** she heard was the woman going down.

She couldn't quite see to confirm that. One lens on her goggles was cracked and her eye was already swelling up.

The woman grabbed her around the waist; Selina dropped into a crouch, jumped up and forward, free, kicking backward. She had to get the gun out of the equation. She had to --

Something sliced at her leg and she flattened herself against the wall to catch her breath and get a hold on her whip.

The woman rounded the corner, gun in her right hand, a huge mother of a knife -- the kind that would engender all kinds of jokes about overcompensating and inferiority complexes if a man wielded it -- in the other.

Well, that accounted for what cut her leg. Selina exhaled, let her whip dangle, then drew a sharp breath and cracked the whip. Caught, the knife flew all the way down the hall, skittering to a stop at the front entrance.

"You want to lose the piece, too?" she called.

The woman laughed. "Why not?"

Making a show of it, she raised her free hand and set the gun down on the floor. When she straightened up, her smile was wide and bright in the dim hallway. "Fair fight?"

"Sure thing," Selina replied and didn't mean a word of it. No fight was fair; you wouldn't be fighting in the first place if things were fair.

But she stepped a little closer and they circled each other. Whatever else she could say about this woman, Selina couldn't deny that she was beautiful. Enraged, sure, and a little too dependent on a right hook and a little too ready to bite, and (not but) beautiful.

They fought closely, feet shuffling, hips swinging. Their wheezes and grunts fell on each other's skin, their fists and blows landing, missing, spinning and landing again.

It might have been flirtation or foreplay. Selina would have been willing to lay odds that it was.

Then again, maybe the Bat had her trained all too well.

Spitting blood at the thought, she led with her shoulder, knocking the woman into the wall.

When Selina reached for her whip again, when she almost had the upper hand, the woman caught her by the wrist, raised up her arm and brought it down, wrenchingly hard, on her knee. Selina stumbled back, grasping her wrist, sure it must be broken, sure that every single thing she'd done tonight since putting on her goggles had been wrong.

And yet the blood pumped harder than ever beneath her skin, pulling her tight and aching, from her fists to her lips, her cunt to her toes.

This felt so fucking good. Too good, if that were possible, and Selina refused to believe that it was.

Her opponent felt it, too. Selina hadn't gotten this far without being able to know that, instantly and certainly. Her irises were blown, her breath fast and shallow. Blood was going sticky on her cheek, she was favoring her left side, but her gaze was as sharp and knowing as ever. The swell of her breasts jumped as she gasped for breath.

"Give them back," she said, and Selina actually leaned in to hear her better. She pressed her mouth against the cut on the woman's cheek, lapped at the blood, and felt her go -- not _still_ so much as held. Arrested.

"What do I get in return?" Selina asked, pulling back just enough to see the gleam of all those piercings. Baby liked pain, needed proof of her own courage, right on the surface. "Gotta make it a fair trade."

She got a knee to the crotch for that, but Selina moved with the blow, bounced against the opposite wall, laughed it off.

"I'm not a whore."

"No, 'course not," Selina said. She had to watch her wrist's movement; the throb kept threatening to drop into full-on pain, nauseating and overwhelming. She blinked away the matching throb in her eye. "That would be just _terrible_."

The woman wore no mask, no armor. All she had were her piercings, her weapons, and her stubborn certainty of what belonged to her. And that, more than anything, showed that she didn't belong here. Only room for one master in Gotham.

Selina tugged free the pouch on her belt and tossed it down the hall to join the gun and knife. The woman tracked its progress with her eyes, but stayed where she was. She still breathed through open mouth; there was sweat on her collarbone, the hollows of her throat.

She would be hard to handle, Selina knew, coils of barbed wire and jangles of knife-blades, but worth it. More than worth it.

"What's your name, honey?" Selina spoke against the damp heat of the woman's neck. She moved her palms down the woman's hips and yanked her forward, canted her own hips to meet her, and slid one leg between the woman's. She ground down, nipped with her teeth, then let her head fall back. "Doesn't have to be a real one, don't worry."

"Aisha," she muttered and her hand was suddenly on Selina's ass, grabbing, lifting, probing. She bit Selina's cheek and worried at the pain with her tongue, tested the heat of the bruising with her lips.

Selina turned toward the contact, her hips swinging and nipples tightening, and kissed Aisha.

Full, soft and _warm_, as they ground down against each other. Selina worked her gloved hand up Aisha's shirt, found the curved weight of a breast, tugged her nipple harder and taller. Aisha thrust against Selina's leg and moaned, deep in her throat, as she pulled Selina's cowl off with her free hand and hauled her back by the hair.

They needed skin, hair, teeth and tongue.

When Aisha's trousers finally got open and down to her knees, Selina cupped her cunt with her bad hand and drove her fingers into the wet, let Aisha fuck her tongue in and out of her mouth and rode the pain as the girl fingered her ass and cursed in several languages against Selina's chest.

Her orgasm burst like sniper fire, sudden and precise. Her eyes widened until there was white all around, bright as her rings, her mouth open, perfectly round. And then she snapped, collapsed, and shook between Selina and the wall.

No one belongs in Gotham, and no fight is fair. Over the years, Selina had found a couple ways to make it work.

After a few more minutes, during which she clenched her thighs like a child and bucked the pleasure, she was kneeling over Aisha, straddling her thighs, rubbing herself insistently against corded muscle.

Aisha blinked up at Selina, then half-smiled like a crescent moon. "Greedy."

"Just want what's mine," Selina said and kissed her again. She lowered herself onto one arm, squeezed shut both eyes -- the tears stung her bruise -- and shouted when Aisha's knuckles grazed her lips. "Make it good."

Aisha chuckled, wriggling under her, then, faster than anything, slid three fingers at once inside. Selina rode the breaching stretch, swallowed the yelp, and fucked herself down farther.

She'd already given up the jewels, but this fight more than made up for that. And this girl's fist up her hole, thumbnail scratching the opening of her urethra, then the hood of her clit, and back again, scraping up pleasure brighter than any pain, her teeth on one of Selina's tits -- this was all just a bonus.

"Harder," she said, and opened up for it all, shoving her ass back, her cunt down. "Don't worry, I can take it."

[end]  



End file.
